


touch their wandering grace

by ThePrimeOfChaos



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depends, Dreams and Nightmares, Rodimus is going to be in for a nasty surprise, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, or good, this is a far stretched au that was encouraged by HEATHENS
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrimeOfChaos/pseuds/ThePrimeOfChaos
Summary: Cybertron is trying to find itself again after a long, destructive four million war that devastated the planet and universe. Rodimus is on the Lost Light, trying to find the legendary Knights of Cybertron to bring a new Golden Age to Cybertron and dealing with his new co-captian, Megatron.But Rodimus' past has caught up to him and he comes to the realizations that some things are not what they had seemed.
Relationships: Rodimus | Rodimus Prime & Ultra Magnus
Kudos: 10





	touch their wandering grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassette (Crescent_Blues)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Blues/gifts), [OhWormsNice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhWormsNice/gifts).



> Two heathens encouraged this in our TF discord server and this happened. I swear to God they did it on purpose.

_Nyon, Acropolex | 4th Cycle 871_ _  
_ _  
_People say that the city used to be alive with activity in the Golden Age. The towers, no not just towers, but regular buildings were gilded. Nyon was the religious capital of Cybertron, the ballads and hymns said to have been written just by listening to the sounds of the city, coming to life in the heart of the city.

The city wasn't gilded nor alive anymore. Rust coated and ate away at the walls, exposing the internal structure to the harsh environment. Time has ravaged this place, leaving nothing unmarked in it’s range. The mech walking along the pavement frowned, a sense of sadness coming over him. Nothing here was the way it used to be, seeming to sag under the rust and disrepair it has endured. A temptation to return to Iacon immediately was ruthlessly squashed, the mech reminding himself why he was here. Making his way down the street, he turned and was faced with a colossus building, the spires some of the tallest he's ever seens, but even that wasn't spared. Some of the spires had collapsed, draped across the pillars that kept the building up. 

The Acropolex. Once a shining beacon of the Golden Age, now a den of rust. But that wouldn’t turn him away. Straightening himself, he bravely sauntered into the building, the light of their sun coming down upon them, the lights fading into twilight. Passing underneath an intricate archway, he was met with the insides of a ruined interior. Faint light poured in from the outside through the open walls and windows, giving the insides a haunted look. Swallowing, he ventured deeper into the building, hands shaking a little. Back in Iacon, in the Hall of Records, he had read about Nyon. The old City of Hymns, where the ballads and hymns were said to be born from. The datapads had so very little though, the little info there was seemingly brushed off as irrelevant or mythical. When he had asked the other archivists working in the Hall, they told him not to worry about it, that it wasn’t worth letting occupy his mind over. The thing is….there was so much that they said was wrong. Nyon clearly had significance to them, folklore and cultural wise. But he couldn’t fathom how it fell to the side. 

So lost in thought, he didn’t realize when he came into the heart of the Acropolex. The statues of the Knights of Cybertron and the Primes of the Past didn’t catch his attention. They weren’t of any importance to him at all, so caught up in figuring out where it changed. But a glint in his eyes brought him out of his thoughts, startling him. Following it’s light, he froze when he saw a youngling sitting in the middle of the room, a serene look on his face. Splotches of rust covered his plating, hiding the color of his plating. In his hands, he held something he didn’t recognize, but it….there was something about it that inspired this feeling he didn’t understand. 

_"Do you hear a voice?"_ The youngling asked, his voice soft. The mech shifted, unsure of what to say or do. A strange feeling started to come over him, like this was something he should understand. A song was starting to crescendo in his mind as his thoughts jumbled together, trying to figure out what the youngling meant. _He didn’t understand, what did the youngling_ **_mean?_ ** The youngling tilted his head, electric blue eyes alive with _something._

_“There’s a song.”_ he whispered, a small smile on his face and the mech stood stock still.  
 _A song?_

* * *

Nyon was his home. Always has been. The people here were what made him who he is today, they taught all that he knew. They were home, they were warmth, they were everything Hot Rod needed even if they had so little in their city. Songs were quietly sang among them, stories told with their words and with the paintings on the walls, the ones that barely saw the light of their sun, the walls having crumbled, blocking the light. He grinned from his perch on top of the Acropolex, a breeze flowing past him. He loved being here, like he was at the top of the world. Hot Rod was free of worries here, whatever realities he had to face on the ground non-existent. 

But while it was nice to be up here, he also liked being on the ground, where he can laugh and smile among his friends, his family. Patting the perch, he scaled down the walls of the Acropolex, the handholds so familiar he placed his pedes and hands on them by instinct. Call it reckless, foolish, whatever. The Acropolex never failed _his_ people, whether inside it’s hall or outside. As he got lower, Hot Rod noticed that two mechs were waiting for him at the bottom. He opened his mouth ready to shout a greeting before his voice died, eyes widening at the sight he saw, breathing faster than he ever did. 

_Where are their faces?_

It wasn’t empurata, he knew what people who were empuratees looked like, _Primus he lived with people who had gone through those_ **_damned forsaken operations._ ** They were horrifically blank , only the color of their facial platings shown. But something compelled him to move forward _~~wait, when did he reach the ground? Why is he moving forward?~~ _ and there’s this smile on his face and he knows it’s fond _but oh Primus why?_

Error… Error… Optical System reboot? Yes   
or No? 

No, no…. No he must be imagining _this._ Fear started to overcome him as the two mechs came closer, a scream trapped in his throat when he saw that the platings on their frame were just _slipping_ ~~ Φωτιά  ~~  
off. Hot Rod couldn’t do anything, just watching as ~~ Θυμάμαι ~~  
they slowly melted into the ground ~~ Σπίτι ~~  
helpless to what he was seeing and there were flashes in his vision and oh Primus there was a scorching heat as flames spawned out of the ground and _everything is burning to the ground and he couldn’t do anything as the flames came towards him._ He didn’t know what to do, falling to his knees as the world burned around him, shaking because he didn’t understand _why?_

Tears welling in his eyes, Hot Rod stretched his hand out, trying to grasp the hand ~~ Οικογένεια ~~  
sticking out of the puddle of molten platings. He couldn’t control his limbs anymore, couldn’t hold back the visceral cold terror that gripped him tightly. As his hand made contact with the melting hand, this sharp burning erupted in his head and _flashes of things he didn’t understand were bouncing around_ and he didn’t know what to do. He was burning, he was burning and it hurt and he couldn’t escape. Everything was hurting and he felt like he was drowning, please let him _out._

 _Primus he hadn’t meant to, he didn’t mean for this to happen._ **_Please let me out-_ **

Rodimus jolted up from his berth, vents blasting and gripping the perch beneath him tightly, dents forming beneath his fingers. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to make himself relax, shaken. It had just been a dream. It wasn’t real at all. He was fine, Rodimus wasn’t burning in the flames. _He was alive._

A shuddering sigh escaping him, he gently released his grip on the berth. While it was annoying that he had put dents into his berth, Rodimus thought that maybe that was better than waking up in his own flames. Placing his pedes on the ground, he looked towards his window, the stars twinkling outside. The Lost Light was passing by a nebula, the space a different variety of colors, the clouds warped together. Tonight wasn’t something he expected at all. He thought...he thought that they were over maybe. The dreams haven’t happened in vorns. He didn’t think that they’d come back now and ruin his sleep. Actually, he didn’t think he would deal with them ever again. Still feeling shaken, Rodimus resigned to staying up the night so he wouldn’t see them behind his eyes again. 

* * *

Rodimus regretted staying up all night.

He could feel his eyes drooping during the meeting and he came close several times to yawning, heaven fucking forbid if Ultra Magnus heard him. Rodimus didn’t want to endure one of Magnus’ long ass lectures, having had too many times before in the past. Dealt with the headaches that came afterwards because Magnus just didn’t know how to make them _concise._

Yes, he knew some big words too.

“Rodimus!” The sharp tone came out of nowhere, Rodimus almost jumping out of his seat. Focusing again, he realized that Ultra Magnus and Megatron were looking at him, Magnus wearing an exasperated expression while Megatron looked annoyed. Rodimus slumped, realizing that he had spaced out during the meeting and he noticed. 

This was probably going to be one of the longest lectures Ultra Magnus has ever given him. 

Joy. 


End file.
